


Life is Good

by WetSammyWinchester



Category: Lodge 49, Santa Clarita Diet (TV)
Genre: Community: intoabar, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 14:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19871233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester
Summary: When a realtor and a plumbing supply salesman meet and existentialism happens. And beer.





	Life is Good

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the intoabar challenge. Prompt Joel Hammond meets someone from Lodge 49.
> 
> My first non-spn fic. I love these two shows and it looks like I'm the first writer to drop a Lodge 49 fic. Thanks to doilycoffin for the beta :blows rare fandom kisses your way:

“Hello? Anyone here?” Joel stops in the entryway. If it’s a private club, he doesn’t want to just wander the halls without permission - it’s rude. He glances at his watch. 9:58 a.m. The email said to meet at this address at 10 a.m. but he’s eager and didn’t want to take a chance that he might miss them.

The place looks old fashioned inside; not at all what he expected from the bland stucco exterior. A banner on the wall reads Welcome to Lodge 49, the Ancient and Benevolent Order of the Lynx. Joel studies the fierce-looking gold cat that holds an hourglass in its paws and chuckles. His grandfather was a Mason and into all this secret society stuff while his dad became an Elk for the monthly networking breakfast. Two kinds of people; same family. No wonder Joel’s so messed up.

“Hello?” he shouts again, glancing around once more before walking down the main hallway. There’s a trophy case with gold statuettes and some old softball team photos, men and women together which is nice. Sheila’s not a big fan of the men’s clubs - a lot of business gets done over those pancake breakfasts, and Joel would have to agree. It doesn’t seem fair.

A pair of double doors off the hallway are open and he walks into a huge bar area. Dark wood and brass accents look like someone took an old English pub and slapped it down in Long Beach. He walks up to the counter and picks up a pewter mug that’s been left out. Heavy and solid with another cat on the front. He tries to remember if lynx even come this far south or just live in Alaska or Manitoba or whatever.

A beer would be nice, he thinks, setting the mug back down, but a spliff would be better. The situation with Sheila has him tied up into knots the last few weeks. Maybe the contact he’s meeting will have more information that can help them undo the curse or at least stop its progress.

“Hey there.” An older guy rises up behind the counter and Joel jumps back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Joel says and plasters on a nervous smile. He waves a hand in the direction of the open doors. “Didn’t mean to invite myself in but I’m supposed to meet someone here.”

“You are?” The guy scratches at what little remains of his hair. “Huh, I don’t know anything about that. Can I get you a beer?” He’s already reaching below the counter to bring out two clean mugs.

“It’s 10 in the morning,” Joel stammers out but the guy behind the bar is already pouring a draft and it would be impolite not to take it. They clink mugs and take a swig at the same time.

“I’m Ernie,” the guy says, wiping his hand on a towel and extending a hand. 

“I’m Joel. Nice place you got here. Surprisingly big.”

“It is!” Ernie says, proudly looking around the empty bar. “Not my place but I'm one of the officers. We’re always accepting new members if you’re interested.”

“Thanks but no, I’m from up north, Santa Clarita. I’m a realtor with my wife, Sheila,” Joel says. Ernie seems to perk up a bit when he digs out their joint business card from his wallet. As Ernie looks it over, Joel runs his hand along the scratched dark wood of the bar and wonders how a place like the lodge ended up in this beige box of a building. “This is a valuable location. Lots of redevelopment going on in this area.” Joel cringes as the chatty realtor-speak rolls off his tongue but Ernie seems nonplussed.

“I doubt they’d ever sell this place - it’s special,” Ernie says. “A realtor, huh? You involved in any residential developments up there?” He pulls a dog-eared business card of his own out of his shirt pocket and hands it over without looking at it. “I’m in plumbing supplies. We specialize in large-scale projects. Could get you a good discount.”

Joel takes the card: Ernie Fontaine, West Coast Super Sales. “Nothing right now, but you never know. Sheila is always working on something big. Speaking of which,” he says before taking another sip. “I’m looking for somebody. We were supposed to meet at 10.”

“Not many people around this time of day. Who are you supposed to meet?”

Joel sets his beer down and fumbles a scrap of paper out of his front pocket. “Blaise? He said he might have a book for me to look at?”

“Sounds like him. I haven’t seen him around yet, but most people don’t roll in for another hour.”

Great, just what I need, Joel thinks, to be stuck in Long Beach all day. He stuffs the paper back into his jeans and takes another swig of the beer. Hopefully, Sheila doesn’t lose her temper and eat their boss before Joel gets back.

“You seem a little tense,” Ernie says. “Anything I can help with?”

“A lot of weird stuff going on right now in my life,” Joel says and blows out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Ernie smiles and rests his elbows on the bar. “Must be going around right now. I have seen some stuff the last few weeks you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I’d believe just about anything,” Joel says. He finishes off his beer and wonders if he should be more concerned about Sheila turning into a zombie or the fact that their situation is turning him into an alcoholic who drinks at 10 am.

“But it’s all good, you know?” Ernie says. There’s a warm smile on this guy’s face that’s reassuring and welcoming like the friendly uncle that Joel never had, and he wants whatever Ernie’s selling at that moment. “Life sends us in the direction we’re meant to go. We just need to embrace the ride.”

“God, I hope not,” Joel mutters under his breath.

“Well, that’s what I’ve had to do. Enjoy the ride.”

“Joel Hammond?” He turns to find a tall man with wavy hair and a sharp jaw standing beside him. The smell of weed is reassuring.

“Yeah, I’m Joel.”

“I’m Blaise. You wanted to see a book of mine?”

“I do, I do.” He slides off the barstool and shakes the guy’s hand with too much enthusiasm. “So glad to meet you. I’m hoping you can help me.”

As they start to walk away, Ernie calls out. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, and thanks for the beer,” Joel says with a wave.

“Any time,” Ernie says. “And Joel, let me know if you need any of those plumbing supplies, okay?”


End file.
